Come check out my original piece on Mamalode

He’d never been violently ill before and was scared. As I cleaned a mess from one room, he would get sick in another. Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling well.  I’ve always said, the whole house could get sick, but if a mother does, things get ugly. I yelled for my husband, he yelled at me.
I have a piece called In Sickness and Health up on Mamalode. Likes, Shares and Comments are so appreciated!!

To read the rest please drop by Mamalode, by clicking the link below: 

In Sickness and Health

The Writers Voice_Johnson_The Passenger


The Passenger, a modern satire, is complete at 74,000 words.

Kyle, a housewife, waits for greatness to find her while she raises her husband’s children. Trevor, a thrice-divorced real estate exec, sells the American dream but has no idea how to find it. And Hal works as a copy guy in a body he stole while trying to outrun the Divine Council who want him back in his post as creator of the universe.

Set in modern day Los Angeles, three people do their best to figure out how they became passengers in their own lives. When they each hit their personal breaking point, finally coming together at a court ordered anger management/smoking cessation group, the three forge an odd friendship which includes vampire blood banks, a biker gang and the possible extinction of humanity.

Readers of A.M. Homes and Tom Perrotta will enjoy this absurd tale about the complexities of everyday life. The complete manuscript is available upon request.

First 250 

KYLE—The Happy Homemaker

I always thought I would be someone great, someone different. I’m not, I am a housewife. I make babies, good babies, cute babies—but babies. Millions of people do it; it takes minimal effort, a gift from God given to even those who don’t appreciate or deserve it; to people like me. I pray every night for a sign to reveal itself, to show me who I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to do. The closest I came was at a bank. I’d just found out I was pregnant with my first child. I stood in the endless line wondering if having a child would put a damper on my dreams. As I walked the final length of the maze, cordoned off by red velvet dividers, there it stood, an ad for some product, ‘Your dreams are right on schedule.’ I kept the baby and have since had two more. My dream never showed up though I continue to wait while I raise my husband’s children.

I don’t really identify with them. If they hadn’t come from my body, I would insist on a paternity test, well maternity in this case. Funny the identity of the mother is never called into question, though I’ve often wished it were.    

I sound awful, but I can think this, I can’t stop myself from doing so. I never say it aloud, though I wonder if they can feel it. Children are intuitive things, just like animals. 

The Writers Voice_Johnson_Pretty Little Boxes


PRETTY LITTLE BOXES, a character-driven suburban novel, is complete at 79,000 words. In the tradition of Cheever and Updike, this quasi-satirical look at life, circa 1950’s suburban America, chronicles one frenetic summer in the Levittownesque subdivision of Crestview. 

Electroshock therapy, illegal contraception, the talking dead…Welcome to mid-twentieth century suburbia where each day slams uniformly into the next. The first day of summer brings a dead dog, a retirement party made to look like Christmas and a discussion on the true meaning of the word Negro.

Trapped within the boxes—a widow with a secret, a queen bee questioning her sanity, the Negro maid wanting for more, a retiree attempting to reconnect with his family, and a young newlywed who fears her kitchen.

Five different people struggle under the smothering confines of a summer heat wave. When rain arrives promising relief, but instead becomes one of the worst hurricanes in New England history, they are forced to figure out what lies beyond their pretty little boxes.

I have had short stories published in the Wilderness House Literary Review and Grub Street. I received my bachelor’s degree in Literature from Hofstra University and a master’s degree in Television/Video Production from Emerson College.

PRETTY LITTLE BOXES will appeal to fans of Kate Walbert’s OUR KIND as well as readers of Robb Forman Dew. The complete manuscript is available upon request.

First 250 Words 

     There were rules to living in a community such as Crestview. In spite of these rules or perhaps because of them, the first day of summer brought a dead dog, a retirement party made to look like Christmas and a discussion on the true meaning of the word Negro.

     A burnt dinner set off the fire alarm, which the dog heard. He, not held behind a fence because the rules prevented them, ran into a wild pack of dogs untrained by owners who’d purchased them in haste, yet another prop in attaining the American dream. Fido, the name on his tag, shaped like a bone set in silver with diamonds around its edges, quickly broke free of the pack roaming the neighborhood, and tore across lawns and streets. He didn’t stop running until the car forced him to. Ginie didn’t see Fido because of the party across the street. The sign said, ‘Retirement’, though it was in red, green and silver which reminded Ginie of something you’d see at Christmas and served to distract her just enough to miss the running canine. Though not a lover of animals herself, killing one had not been a part of her day’s plans. Her neighbor, Lloyd, the retiree, who’d spent his entire adult life in annuities, was currently looking in his bathroom mirror practicing his speech, eager to place his past behind him and move forward to a future which focused on family rather than finances. 

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